Silent Rain
by Saronai
Summary: Lesara is chosen heir for The Order of Mysteries - a group of kaldorei shadow priestesses. Unfortunately, she falls short of expectations; ill-suited for her mother's world of shadows and lost knowledge. When Nordrassil falls, her mother's sanity slips, dragging Lesara deeper in shadow. This quest for new immortality has a price. What sacrifices will the Lady of Mysteries demand?
1. Seeking a Vision

_Notes: I was running this as a blog series and will continue it that way, rather than as chapters. As such, I was calling each scene/chapter an episode. This is a series built on scenes, rather than traditional chapters. Also, I wrote it in a way that my sister, who does not play World of Warcraft, could keep up with the story without getting too lost._

_Finally, I will only go back to fix typos and simple errors (wrong names in the case of accidentally calling Adriala, Navianna once, lore I got wrong that's easy enough to fix, etc.). If I write myself into a corner on this, I'll try my hardest not to be dull and boring while writing the characters back out of it, but the story won't drastically change and get rewritten before it's done. I hope you enjoy it and I enjoy comments if you've time!_

_All characters belong to me unless they are obvious lore characters (Tyrande, Elune, etc.) or otherwise noted._

_**Silent Rain**_  
_**Episode One: Seeking a Vision**_

Wispy tendrils of smoke rose and danced from the altar, creating a gossamer web above before blurring into a thin fog near the ceiling. The burning herbs with their heavy-sweet scent made Lesara's eyes water and she struggled to keep her composure.

A familiar, comforting pressure, like a hug filled her mind. Her brother. A surge of emotion pushed at her heart, wanting to cling, but she gathered her will and pushed instead. Kalshen traveled the Emerald Dream, a realm between sleep and waking. That she sensed him meant she was on the verge of passing out. An image of her mother's stern face intruded, the usual pale white glow of her eyes bright enough to swallow her silvered irises.

An unpleasant tickle snaked up her spine and she struggled with its coils tightening around her throat. She tried swallowing around a dry lump before dutifully bending her head. Her mother's visage faded. The uneven sound of her pressured breathing pounded in her ears. Drums, it was drums. Lesara's tapered ears twitched back to catch the sound better, her eyes on the weaving smoke in front. Silence now.

Colors rose from the smoking herbs in a rainbow haze, forming shapes. She stopped breathing, her eyes darting to pick them out, but they wavered and the room began to follow their dance. She closed her eyes to fight back the quaver of nausea rising from her stomach. The water inside sloshed, pushing the nausea farther up her throat and her stomach growled, angry with her recent fasting.

__Concentrate!__ Her mother hissed in her thoughts. Lesara stiffened, rigid, preventing any cringing or whimpering as the too-familiar psychic needle shot through her mind. __You're nearly there!__

Lesara forced herself to breathe in more smoke, fighting a protest in her lungs. She opened her eyes. The room continued its quivering snake dance with the tendrils of smoke. Through it she saw glowing, blue orbs streak toward a canopy of burning trees. Wisps? One of the orbs stopped and hovered in her field of vision; the vague image of a face within blinked and moved closer.

__Let go...__ An urgent whisper. She felt a warm wave rush in like a summer breeze spreading through her from all sides to her core. A tingle followed, sometimes sharp, airborne grains of sand on the beach. She tried opening her eyes, but only roiling blackness greeted her vision. The sea painted before her, lit by an ethereal moon-kissed glow. Kalshen turned to smile and beckoned.

"WEAK!" An ocean wave smacked her down, gasping for breath, before choking on smoke. Smoke. Lesara struggled on the soaking floor of the hazy room. Her mother's stiff and angular form wavered, the bucket in her hands more clear than anything. Lesara watched a small drop of water fall from its lip to the puddle around her. She turned her head, eyes following the smoke snakes slithering out the opened door to her right.

"Mother..." She coughed. "I saw..." Lesara struggled against hunger and exhaustion as she pushed herself off the floor. Kalshen pulled her into sleep. __Damn him.__

The bucket clattered to the floor and her mother rushed to help her up. "You saw?" She breathed.

"Wisps..." She finished, pulling at her memory for more. Nothing.

"Wisps?" Ysareline straightened and Lesara nearly slipped back into the floor with her sudden lack of support. "That's it?"

Lesara hung her head, locking all emotion away. No emotion. Tears threatened regardless and she forced herself to remember the last time she cried. Control. "Burning trees..." She bent over the puddle, her knees aching against the hard floor, and pretended her veil of white hair was a shield. She fixed her gaze on the ends curling in the puddle. When her voice no longer felt thick she cleared her throat. "I'm sorry."

A heavy sigh. "At least you saw something this time. Get up, go bathe."

She heard her mother's footsteps retreating and pushed away from the floor, sitting with her legs folded under.

Ysareline paused in the door way, polished fingernails tapped the door frame where her right hand rested. She turned her face to one side without looking over her shoulder. Her own mane of long white hair pulled back in a sharp pony-tail, contrasted the smooth bone structure of her face and soft lavender skin. "The Lady of Mysteries demands far more next moon. Help her up." She disappeared from the doorway.

Lesara almost started when she felt two sets of hands wrap around either shoulder and under her arms. "__Ashala'eluna,__" They both intoned as they started nudging her toward the door.

__Weakness...__

She tried shaking herself free, then shoved them off. "I can walk for myself." She straightened and attempted her best march ahead while her legs felt like water. She refused them even a cursory glance, though a thank you tried escaping. She gritted her teeth against it and led the way to the enclosed hot spring.


	2. Breaking the Fast

_Notes: This one's probably a bit of a background dump for how the order of mysteries and Lesara's family fit into lore. Sorry._

_**Silent Rain**_  
_**Episode 2: Breaking the Fast**_

After every fasting her mother demanded, the flat bread always smelled divine, even if her stomach remained unsatisfied by how slowly she reintroduced food. Any other time flat bread tasted like crunchy nothing, with just as little smell.

Adriala stood guard by her doorway and Lesara studied her thoughtfully, amused when she dropped her gaze and watched the room with a blank stare, as though unaware of Lesara's attention. "Where is Lady Ethala'Aman?"

"The Lady retired to her rooms soon after the ritual." Adriala continued staring forward, her voice as expressionless as her face.

Lesara tilted her head, wondering what training shadow glaives such as Adriala endured. They were named for the new moon's shadow and the weapon nearly all kaldorei favoured. Always quiet warriors raised, groomed, and trained their whole lives to protect priestesses. She knew they were given over to The Lady from birth. No parents, no friends, no lovers, no relations, no recognizable semblance of personality, just charges. In fact, they occasionally required mind-wipes to prevent enemies from uncovering vital secrets.

Secrets. The order thrived on them. Not even High Priestess Tyrande, leader of the kaldorei people, knew of the order. If she did, she gave no indication. Most priestesses worshipped Elune, the goddess, in her full glory; that beautiful and full white orb set in the sparkling night sky. A time of high activity for the kaldorei; children of the stars.

The Lady of Mysteries demanded more of her priestesses. Time and again her mother said as much. In her kinder moments, Ysareline adopted a motherly persona, one showing regret on Lesara's rigorous training. Those moments rarely lasted long. Always pursuing knowledge and mysteries, finding the hidden moon goddess where few brave a look. Ysareline was a high priestess among the new moon sect and Lesara, her chosen successor.

Lesara pushed up from the purplish-brown, wooden bench and table, embellished with raised swirls coloured black. She took a soothing drink for her scratchy throat, and crossed to her wardrobe, digging for less intimate clothing than a thin, mageweave sleeping gown.

The Order of Mysteries obeyed the laws, of course, but where others stop, healers of the full moon and judges of the half, the new moon seeks knowledge. The people remain ignorant of much more than they know, despite immortality. Collecting mysteries, obscure knowledge, unveiling the unknown, the business of secrets, all as important as Elune's other aspects and their purposes. The full moon heals and nourishes, the half balances, the new holds secrets...and dispenses justice.

Lesara shivered and pulled out a simple, brown and green robe with matching pants. Both were made of heavy and thick, woven together plant materials; a local type of moss cultivated for exactly that reason.

"It is nearly dawn, my lady, perhaps you should rest instead?"

Lesara paused, staring at the clothes in her hands. Adriala braved reprisal speaking up. "You have some other orders?"

"Yes, my lady."

A brief flash of Adriala kneeling for punishment nudged Lesara back to her wardrobe against her desire. If someone saw and reported to Ysareline, Adriala faced punishment. Memories of previous nightmares and restless nights argued back; the herbal garden outside promised a reprieve. The thick too-sweet smell of burning herbs still clung after her cleansing in the hot spring.

Lesara wrinkled her nose and the desire for fresh air won. She began shrugging out of her soft bedclothes, leaving the dyed-purple mageweave puddled around her feet. While the kaldorei built their houses open in front, using natural features, fallen wood, or even carving their homes into the trunks of large trees, the private chambers and studies were frequently closed off. When carved into trees, this was necessary for stability, as well as preventing the tree's death.

Her grandmother's workers carved the Ethala'Aman home into such a tree, tunneling upward, with flat chambers; enough for plenty of rooms without making the tree unstable. Druids healed the carvings while builders worked ahead, crafting each room, staircase, and hall more than a millennia ago. They carved each upper room close enough to the trunk for a small, open-air chamber set in the back, blocked only by moss curtains.

Lesara wanted more than a walled balcony tonight. She wanted out in the open sky. No ceiling, no walls on either side of a window room, and she wanted a bit of fresh peacebloom from the garden. She wanted her plants. "Your training requires you protect me where I go, not presume to correct my actions." She looked over her shoulder as she straightened the new robe over her frame.

Adriala stiffened, her mouth setting in a grim line. She stared at the moss-curtained doorway into the halls and said nothing.

Sympathy and regret pin-cushioned Lesara's insides. She felt her own deep-set frown and fought a childish temper; an impulse to splinter her mother's onyx-tipped staff against the altar stone, crumple up a dozen scrolls and then run away from home, take Adriala with her, away from the cold. An image of Tyrande swam in her vision; composed, strict like her mother, but soft, with a presence more like an embrace than hard and unforgiving stone.

__The Lady of Mysteries is cold and harsh, but our people need her as much as the aspect of full light. __A rehearsed thought, always in her mother's voice. Lesara believed it, didn't she? Yes. She forced tension from her fisted hands and rigid posture, breathing out. She turned and faced Adriala. __I'm sorry, and__ __I hate this, you're a person too. __"I will notify my mother first thing. You won't be punished."

Her glaive continued staring straight ahead. "Yes, my lady. I apologize-"

Lesara waved dismissively at the apology and Adriala broke off immediately, taking the gesture as a command. She crossed the room and ducked under the moss door, held parted by Adriala.

In the halls, the occasional window, punctuated their descent with small circular holes at shoulder level. Down through the maze of loosely curling, gently declining ramps. Three sets of staircases, each heading toward the core, turning sharply, and then heading back outward, interrupted at regular intervals. The last led to a large, open-faced gathering room for guests and leisure.

Both guards on either side of the ramp out stomped their left leg, snapping their heels together in unison and saluted with fisted hands; left arm across the back, right arm over the chest. They held the pose as Lesara walked past, trailed by Adriala. Lesara kept her eyes ahead, fighting the impulse to acknowledge the two women. She learned long ago that the slightest misstep always ended in a report to Ysareline, and Lesara paid for each one during training. She might pay for this as well, despite never hearing Ysareline's direct orders. __Better me than Adriala though.__

She veered left and walked into the closest herb garden and off the path. Morning dew already dampened the grasses under her bare feet. She bit back a content sigh while her posture melted. Distant fear kept her from collapsing on the ground without ceremony and snuggling the wet ground. Instead, she kept walking until she reached the small white flowers curling around their yellowed centers, sleeping in the pre-dawn light.

She pulled a small, but sharp dagger free from her pockets and unsheathed it, then knelt in front of the peacebloom. She silently thanked each section she sliced free, humming a healing hymn of Elune as she brushed her fingertips over the severed ends, willing them soothed and closed.

__I want to sleep out here in the grass.__ She thought as she tucked the gathered peacebloom into a separate pocket from the resheathed dagger. She snuck a glance over and up at Adriala. The glaive stood stiff and ready, eyes alert for danger. However, her expression seemed more peaceful than before.

The glaives, even the military guards, the sentinels, represented more than protection. They highlighted vulnerability. While the kaldorei, thanks to an old bargain, were immortal, that only prevented death from old age. It also required the druids sacrifice long stretches of life, sleeping in magic stasis while their souls worked as caretakers for Ysera's realm, The Emerald Dream.

A light rain began falling and Lesara looked skyward, letting it run rivulets along the curves of her face, into her ears and down to the pointed tips. She bent her ears back toward the ground, blocking the rain from falling directly inside, then looked around the grounds and up the large trunk of her ancestral home. Her window overlooked the gardens, Ysareline's overlooked the ritual grove on the opposite side. No one else in sight. Lesara collapsed backwards, her hair snaking through the grass in several directions.

"My lady?" She heard a panicked shift of metal-studded armor near her feet, but kept her eyes closed.

"I'm fine, Adriala." Then she remembered Adriala reported directly to Ysareline. "Don't tell," she whispered.


	3. An Emerald Dream

_**Silent Rain**_  
_**Episode 3: An Emerald Dream**_

"You over-estimate my ability to help." Adriala's tone was flat, but Kalshen thought he detected a note of regret.

He remained crouched in front of the emerald pond, lightly touching a few lotus sprouts. They grew further, unfurling coral petals at a lazy pace that made him sigh. __I'm useless as a druid.__ He stood and turned his full attention to Adriala's hazy form.

"…Losing you." She stood tense, hands clasped firmly together, and grew translucent.

"Don't wake yet." Kalshen grabbed her fists with both of his hands and she solidified.

"And if your sister needs me?" She looked down at their hands, long and elegant eyebrows knitting together. He brought a hand up, compelled to caress the edge of her stubborn frown.

"She doesn't. Not right now. Protecting her is important, but that's not all I care about."

She smiled soft and slid one hand over his, holding it to her cheek. "Only in dreams." She pulled his hand down and kissed his palm before releasing it.

"You're more than a weapon." He felt keen irritation sharpen his features.

She shrugged, keeping hold of his hand and turned to lead them down the forested path ahead. "That world is in waking. The rules say nothing of dreams, do they?" She looked over her shoulder at him, mischief tilting one corner of her smile more than the other. "Show me more of the dream?" She led the way, however, and he let her.

They weaved through large and colourful flowers with vibrant green stalks, swirling into the air like vines twisting around invisible columns. Some drooped, hanging over head with blossoms and leaves bigger than their heads. The path she took was thick with growth, more like a barely defined deer trail than a cultured pathway through the dream. "What does Ysera have you do in here?" She tapped a thick and waxy leaf, shaking droplets of dew from the blossom and on their heads.

"Hey!" They both chuckled as they moved out of the impromptu rainfall. His toe caught on a root hidden in the lush grasses and he fell fast enough that he dragged her down with him in a giggling heap. A blush warmed his cheeks and he stumbled an apology. Her throaty laugh encouraged a smile, however. Pushing away from him, she sat on her knees as he rolled over, but caught his elbow before he could sit up as well.

"You're handsome." She brushed the pale white hair from his vision and he felt his blush deepen under the stare of her pale silver eyes. She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose. "But you can't walk worth a drunken owl…even in a dream." She grinned down at him.

"A drunk owl?" He yanked on her arm, planning to bring her down with him again, but she barely budged, grinning further at his attempt.

"Too much sleep's made you weak already," she teased, getting to her feet and helped pull him to his. They continued their trek, Adriala walking ahead with renewed spirit in her step, her eyes all over the unique vegetation and hazy emerald mist ahead.

The thirst for exploration grabbed hold of him as well, keeping easy step behind her. She reminded him of the Emerald Dream's wonder, something he never appreciated, too preoccupied with its role as punishment and exile; too concerned for his sister. He bumped into her when she stopped, ears flicking about for sounds.

He followed her instincts and swiveled his own ears about, but heard nothing.

"Traveler, identify yourself." A clipped and high-pitched command. It was also heavily accented.

Adriala took on a ready stance and initially resisted Kalshen's attempts to slide around her. "We mean no harm, dryad." Kalshen called out, finally being allowed past. Adriala returned to stiff and formal vigilance.

"Druid, you are escorting the traveler?" The vague outlines of an elven face appeared in the bushes straight ahead, losing transparency as she stepped away from her concealment, the deer's body attached to her torso danced nervously.

"I am."

She eyed him before flicking a look behind her, the vines of her hair falling over her shoulder. "You are fresh. Turn back now, there is danger ahead."

"I can help…" Kalshen stepped forward.

The dryad held out a hand. "No travelers, and no, thank you druid, the danger is under control, but it is no place for you." Her hooves had stilled, but her body held far more tension than Adriala on guard and she kept glancing obsessively around.

Kalshen finally nodded. "Shall I report in?"

"It is already done." The dryad smiled, fading back in with the brush. "Thank you, druid, but stay on the path behind you."

Kalshen stood for a few minutes after, knowing she likely watched from the vegetation, unmoving. Nonetheless, he tried to spot any signs of danger beyond, but even his ears failed to pick up anything. Silence persisted. Danger waited in silence. He nodded once more at the last spot he saw the dryad and turned around, meeting Adriala's eyes and the concerned knit of her brows.

"We should help."

"No. You're an outsider here. Besides, dryads don't lie, we'd only be in the way. It's nothing you can hack at with steel." He grinned at her. "They'll be fine."

She kept a stubborn stance for a few minutes before relenting. She turned and trudged forward, entirely too quiet for his liking now.

"I'm a terrible druid." He admitted.

"You're 'fresh.'" She chuckled.

Kalshen felt tension leaking from each step at the cheerful sound. "It's more than that. My father told me once…my mother almost gave me to the goddess."

Adriala paused. "Shadowsworn?"

He saw her face in profile and nodded.

She continued walking, her pace slowing. "I'm not sure I understand your meaning?"

"My mother arranged for this…well, this exile. She made a mistake allowing my father his wish to keep me. I proved a thorn in her side over Lesara. The druids teach me what they can, but I'm fairly useless here. Part of why I have so much more time on my hands left alone here. I do what I can, but..."

"Would you rather be shadowsworn?"

"No." He knew that much for certain. "I hate that you're a glaive, the sworn have it worse, don't they?"

"They do. The priestesses must scour their memories regularly. They see far too much and our immortality proves a burden in torture. The business of secrets is…dark."

The pond they left earlier came into view, the lotus blossoms still small and new where a more powerful druids touch would see them large and blooming overhead like pink lantern shades.

"Don't hate who I am." She turned to look at him and reached for his hand.

"Never. I only hate that they won't let you be all you are. I'd sooner call you traveler than glaive."

"Traveler?"

"A spirit traveling through the dream, uninvited. Some do it on purpose, others, rarely stumble in by accident during a more mundane dream." He brushed a strand of her violet hair behind her ear.

"I always dream here, always this pond and this forest. I find peace in it…I found you in it." She leaned into him and he felt the slightest brush of her lips on his just before his hands fell through hers and she vanished to the waking world.


	4. An Old Enemy

_**Silent Rain**_  
_**Episode 4: An Old Enemy**_

There was no mistaking the distant alarm of a long and deep horn blast. It raked Lesara from sleep early. Adriala already stirred noisily from her cot in the far corner.

Regardless, the glaive posted outside her door called out, "An alarm is raised!"

Lesara sat up, spending only a few moments watching Adriala pull her dusky armor plating on over the cloth and leather she slept in. Occasionally an alarm sounded when the bear-like furbolgs grew restless and territorial, or other larger problems with nature, including dangerous weather. This alarm was different, the horn was deeper, with long, single blasts. This alarm was new to Lesara.

She wondered if it had anything to do with the green-skins and pale day-walkers crossing The Barrens to the southeast. Both described as short and stubby-eared, intelligent species called orcs and humans from a land east of the sea, beyond the maelstrom. She heard a particularly nasty group of green-skins made it as far as Ashenvale before their defeat. It was a battleground far enough away that she missed all sounds of skirmish.

A closer blast on the horn spurred Lesara from bed and into her ceremonial silver and black robes. She expected little in the way of ceremony, but the robes were more proper for unexpected company and crafted with divine spellwork for better protection and stronger casting. She raked her fingers through her hair as an afterthought while she followed Adriala from the room. Ranera, her day-shift glaive, took up behind them both, shielding Lesara's back.

Halfway down, they encountered Ysareline emerging from her room in full battle regalia, a hooded cloak rested over flared shoulder guards and thick robes, all in black with intricate silver accents. She paused and rested the butt of her blackened-wood staff, decorated with filigreed silver vines on the ground. Its end curved like a large crescent moon with a silver and black owl feather dangling from the tip. Her own guards took point ahead of her, down the hall, waiting.

Lesara gave her mother a respectful nod as Adriala and Ranera snapped to attention, hands fisted above and behind their hearts in formal salute. Her mother extended a disapproving look at her daughter, before she turned away, both of her guards taking point as the loudest horn blast sounded below. Lesara trailed behind with her guards, feeling foolishly under-dressed and ill-prepared.

Their pace slowed enough that Lesara gripped her own hands together in shaking anxiety, biting her tongue firmly on questions regarding the new horn blast. Finally they reached the open gathering room where their personal glaives spread out around them both. An outrider waited on the ground at the foot of the ramp up, still atop her black and grey striped riding saber. Her shoulder-length, dark green hair was partially pulled back in a little pony tail, windblown, with curls of hair matting to her sweat-streaked face. The saber looked little better and both were hyper alert.

Another long horn blast sounded farther down the road, calling Lesara's attention to a group of five more outriders continuing west toward Darkshore at full speed.

"House Ethala'Aman." The outrider snapped a formal salute, but unlike the house guards, she served all kaldorei and continued without waiting for permission. "I stop only long enough to detail the warning."

"The Burning Legion…" Ysareline's voice was barely above a whisper and held a thick and unfamiliar quality…fear?

The outrider nodded. "They return in force with rotting allies, marching this way." Her eyes were wide and her voice quivered.

Lesara caught her eyes and held fast, captivated. She felt sucked in; her vision swallowed in the white glow of the outrider's eyes. Blinded only a moment, trees began appearing. The various shapes of demons she'd only heard about before now marched through the trees, mixed with walking corpses too short for kaldorei, and a few large, spider-like creatures with vaguely humanoid torsos and heads dotted with multiple eyes.

The main column of horror marched on while the edges locked in occasional combat with local wildlife, kaldorei, and furbolg alike. Tiny grell-like creatures with horns tossed fire all around. Lesara looked up and saw flame. She nearly fell backward when the white glow swallowed her vision again and released her. "The burning canopy," she whispered, catching her mother's sharp look over her shoulder. __Where were the wisps?__

Lesara looked back at the outrider and saw reflected disorientation. The outrider mumbled and rubbed her forhead. "Mobilize your house due east, and raise your defenses. Tyrande orders all druids wakened. We're going to need __everything__ we have against this. Those unable to fight should retreat southwest. It appears the enemy pushes for Mount Hyjal." She saluted once more, and without waiting for dismissal, she turned her saber around and rushed west at top speed.

The gathering room seemed composed of statues for several minutes before Ysareline broken the silence and began issuing orders. Much of the order stood behind, but now rose to action, retreating to rooms and halls for more supplies while more glaives than Lesara knew lived here organized in force around the ramp up, steadily replaced in shifts by more glaives returning from around the house on the backs of their own sabers. She even spied a few shadowsworn moving from the shadows, some disappearing in the surrounding wood. Only Adriala, and her mother's primary glaive, Shestelle, remained in position nearby.

Finally, Ysareline paused in her orders and faced Lesara. The emotion in her mother's eyes startled her, less glow with more silver in her irises, a slight quiver. "I lost my parents and sister the first time the legion came."

Lesara remained still, her thoughts shocked silent by the rare, emotional display.

Ysareline coughed lightly. "Go to the barrows below, wake the druids and send them up. Then remain in the sanctum with Adriala. We are already far enough southwest…the legion should pass much farther north. You __will__ be safe." She nodded firmly. "Go." One last order before she turned away, shouting directions to the reappearing priestesses in full battle-robes, decked with gleaming daggers and staves. "The legion took much from us, we will have justice!"

_"___Ashala'eluna!"__ The shouts followed Lesara down the twisting paths beneathe their tree.


	5. The Nightmare

_**Silent Rain**_  
_**Episode 5: The Nightmare**_

The comparative quiet in the barrow den felt eerie and prickled at the hairs on her neck. Lesara fought a shiver and rubbed at her goose bumps as she headed for a large chest placed between the two farthest, elaborately carved oaken doors opposite the circular chamber's entrance. Adriala dropped back, and turned, facing the ramp they just descended.

The shiver slid back up Lesara's spine as she neared the two doors and then paused briefly before throwing back the chest's lid. It creaked open the entire way to the barrow walls she leaned it against. Four separate leather satchels rested inside. Greyish-white stones with a swirling relief carved in their faces rested in front of each; the keys for all four doors.

__Who first? __The sacks, arranged by order of door, from left to right, meant the first and last sacks wakened the various House druids. Her father and Kalshen dreamt from behind the center doors. Lesara grabbed the second sack and key, looked briefly at Adriala's back, and pushed away from the chest. She faced the door on her left and stepped forward several paces.

A carved hollow at eye level perfectly matched the oval shape of the key. Lesara stared at it, inexplicably reluctant. Her father only recently joined the druids in their slumber, with Kalshen, at Ysareline's insistance. Most left for the dream nearly ten millenia ago. She found imagining ten thousand years without her father or brother impossible. __Why do I hesitate?__

_The demons._ They both spent the last two decades lost in the dream and now they needed waking…for war. She sighed, shoved the stone in, and waited. The swirling relief glowed green just before a click echoed in the chamber and the door split, each half crawling in.

A hiss in the dark caught her ear, followed closely by the snaking tendril of a vine curling around the door frame. "Adriala…" Lesara backed away from the door as the dark green vine grew thicker than her arm and overtook the door's left half, separating it from the wall. The heavy oaken slab fell backward with a resounding thud.

Strange, shadowed figures danced beyond the vines, most only waist-high. Lesara blinked, her night-vision balancing the original contrast between both chambers. More plants, bearing thorny arms and roots that shambled, turned petaled, eyeless faces toward the open door.

"Adriala!" Lesara half-stumbled backwards. The vines snaked slowly along the edges of the doorframe, out on the walls and ceiling, skirting the edges of the room.

The sharp sound of drawn steel mingled with a startled curse as Adriala pushed in front of her. A thin, black mist clung to the walking flowers, each in different, vibrant shades. Looking over the glaive's shoulder, Lesara counted at least ten. Her father lay motionless against the far wall of his chamber, a black mist settled over him.

"What's happening?" Adriala remained ready as the plants neared.

"I don't know!" Lesara hugged the bag of wakening relics, her eyes following the thickening vines still crawling around the walls toward the exit. "Let me…" She tried shouldering in with Adriala and focused on the center of the petaled, faceless plants. Cold needled her mind back and the closest, white and blue-black shambler, lashed a thorned arm out at her like a whip. Adriala deflected the blow with her sword and struck back, slicing half the thing's face away and then cutting it in half above the root.

"Get out of here!" Adriala yelled as the remaining shamblers neared, each lashing out at Adriala's feet and arms. They kept her too busy deflecting for return strikes.

Lesara ignored her and tried pulling at the inky mist around the plants, succeeding only in a cold tingle throughout her mind. Gasping, she withdrew those efforts and redirected her approach, focusing, instead, on her father's stilled figure. Inky blackness swallowed her in harsh cold and she fell to her knees, the hard earth sending shocks of pain up and down both legs. She clawed her way back out, swaying in the onslaught of returned colour and blurry shapes.

"I need to wake him." Lesara pushed off the ground and stumbled forward. Two more shambling flowers laid in hacked pieces at Adriala's feet. "Draw them out!"

Both kaldorei women began slowly backing up to the far right until Lesara had enough space to edge around and behind the last seven flowers. She ran for her father's side and jerked open the bag, smashing the first wakening relic, similar to the key, into the floor hollow at the head of her father's resting altar. Without ceremony she shuffled right and dropped a carved moonstone leaf into the hollow front and center.

"No!" Adriala's shout caused Lesara to fumble the malachite feather, nearly dropping it before she shoved it into the hollow at the foot of the altar. She dared a glance over her shoulder as she moved around toward the final hollow between the altar and the wall. "Move!" Adriala slashed at the plants in front of her, but pointed behind Lesara with her other hand.

Too late, she felt solid cold snake around her waist, just before it began squeezing and slithering more vines down and around her legs and up her torso. Lesara grunted and scrambled for her secreted herbalist knife, but the vines around her waist held it fast, the sheath burrowing painfully into her thigh. "Wake him!" She pulled the last relic from the sack, a feather carved from blue crystal, and held it up.

Adriala struggled against the remaining shamblers with renewed fury.

The vines curled down Lesara's arms and up her neck, simultaneously pulling her toward the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on tiny gasps of air. __Elune, help me! __She reached for that warm light she craved above her mother's shadow. The relic slipped from her fingers as the vines spread over her face and snagged in her hair, pulling in several directions. The unmistakable sound of breaking stone resounded in her uncovered ear, the other pressed tightly against the barrow walls now.

"Let go!" Adriala growled near her uncovered ear, following it with the sounds of hacking.

"No…the pieces…the relic." Lesara's short gasps choked on a tendril pushing into her mouth. She bit down hard on it, taking in short and sharp breaths through her nose. The panicked, wriggling end in her mouth churned her stomach, and she fought nausea. The severed stump still pressed against her firmly closed lips.

The hacking continued but the vines began choking until stars fired behind her closed eyes, a final whimper escaping. Lesara crunched down on the still-wriggling end in her mouth, teeth gritting, she pulled harder for that warm light. Then she mentally grabbed at Adriala's mind.

__The relic!__ She screamed in it and her awareness spilled sideways and swayed on new feet, gripping the dagger stabbed deep into a vine. She saw her body crushed into the barrow wall, the few visible patches of normally pink skin on her face taking on ruddy splotches. The vines tangled with her white hair, splaying it in several directions up the wall. Worse yet, she felt vines snaking up Adriala's legs now too. She shoved away, still grasping the dagger and fell sideways over lumps of vines, hacking and stabbing at them before shoving her hands between for the relic pieces.

She yanked two free as the vines around Adriala's legs reached her hips. __A third piece? __She gritted her teeth and began tossing away severed ends of vines, hacking, then tossing more. Her sight wavered, blurring, slipping back toward the wall. __I'm dying…Kalshen…she's dying!__

The third piece sliced open her finger, but she eagerly grabbed it and fell over the remaining vines, stretching for the relic hollow.

Darkness. The stars were fireworks behind her eyes now. The bitter tang of the weak, but still struggling vine tip in her mouth solidified her return and her loss of control over Adriala's mind. The vines wrapped over her nose, strangling her throat now, starved long enough of oxygen that each failed attempt at breathing felt like shattering implosions throughout her abdomen.

__HELP! Goddess…I don't want to die…__

The vague outline of a pure white and silver kaldorei with hair like wispy clouds formed in the dying fireworks. "Daughter of the stars…" the figure whispered, then dissipated in a fine white mist that grew thick and warm, like an embrace that carried her home.


	6. Whispering Shadows

_**Silent Rain**_  
_**Episode 6: Whispering Shadow**_

_"___Let her go!" __Ysareline thrust the head of her staff forward and pulled at the shadow haze with her mind. It swirled tight and quick from the mess of vines and plant debris toward the center of the room. Traveling the path of power, it formed a black cloud around the crescent moon of her staff. Crawling tendrils of excess crept up her arms and settled about her shoulders like a mantle.

The inky blackness chilled her skin and infected her aura. __She's dead… and it's your fault.__

"My fault…" She heard a whisper escape her own lips.

Images of her mother, stern but protective, her sweet sister, and the smiling visage of her father flooded her mind. __All your fault. __An ethereal version of Lesara joined them, her robe tapering into mist rather than feet. Her husband joined as well, a blackened spirit. The dead narrowed their gaze on her, eyes alight with cold blue fury. __Your fault!__

"Lady!" Someone shouted and the spirits raged at her, charging forward.

__Join us, Ysareline!__

"NO!" This shadow was something sinister, nothing like Elune's. __A lie.__ "A lie!" Ysareline pulled hard at the remaining shadow until her core froze. The mist-figures dispersed and the vines ceased crawling. She stalked forward, wielding the shadow like an army of whips. __You can't have them! __Chunks of vine scattered and fell away.

From the corner of her eye she noticed more shadow leaking across the vines closest to her husband. She funneled it immediately to her staff and renewed the lashing arms. Precision and control, sharp and focused, fought back the vines without lacerating their captives. __Too slow…too late. __The alien shadow whispered, poking icy fingers in her head.

Lesara's cry for help was so long ago now, painful, even from the ceremonial grove across the grounds. She saw the failed attempts at placing the wakening relic. Worse, she felt her daughter fading and then let go. __She let go…she's gone…join her…__

_"___Eshala'fuk Ana!"__ Ysareline growled. She pulled the shadow sharply within, whips funneling back, stabbing into her core like raining shards of ice. Feeling numbed before Ysareline directed all shadow away in a violent burst into every remaining vine. Hollowed out in seconds, she pushed it through the vines, increasing speed. The pattern felt like controlling blood flow through a deformed body, pumping the heart ever faster.

She clenched her fists and muttered an incantation over the panicked whispers in her head. In the eerie quiet following her final words she splayed all her fingers, mentally sending the shadow outwards in all directions.

A quick succession of splooshy pops echoed all over the room. Heated vine juice splattered her cheek and robes before Ysareline opened her eyes and saw Lesara falling from the wall with exploded bits of vine. She flung the remaining power as a tangible cloud of shadow.

The lighter coloured, smoky-grey cloud cushioned Lesara long enough for Ysareline to rush forward and gather her protectively. They sunk to the floor together, Ysareline cradling Lesara's upper body. Long-dried, green liquid seeped like blood from the corners of Lesara's mouth. Beneath more green splatters, the few visible patches of skin were colourless. __Wake up! Come back! __Ysareline shouted into an unresponsive mind. She heard someone behind her struggling through the mess before the click of the last wakening stone.

She glared up at the closed ceiling, eyes accusing. __You take too many, Lady. Give her back!__ Tears steamed through the cooled and sticky liquid on her face. She clutched Lesara close, nuzzling into the vine soaked and tangled hair at her daughter's shoulder. "Give her back now!"

"Ysare–" Her husband's groggy voice from behind. "No–Ta'ele!" A clatter before arms enveloped them both from behind.

Ysareline pulled greedily at his already exhausted strength. A long fight with shadow…__his fault!__ She envisioned the full moon above, funneling the warmth through them both, and into Lesara. Words of Elune's light long unspoken, but memorized. She saw her daughter transposed before the moon, turning. __Come back! __She reached with both arms in the vision.

A peculiar look crossed Lesara's features, brows knitting together, frowning, before she turned back to the full moon, conversing with words swallowed in the gap between.

__No! GIVE HER BACK! __Lesara's shoulders sloped forward, her head bowed before she nodded and walked down from the moon.

A shuddering gasp called Ysareline from the vision and sobs strangled her throat as she smoothed Lesara's hair repeatedly. She released her only when Lesara pushed away and spat the end of a vine from her mouth, coughing.

__Thank you, Goddess!__ Ysareline's tears leaked salt into her open grin.

"Mother?" Lesara swayed a bit, eyelids heavy, the word slurred. She reached and traced the path of tears on Ysareline's cheek, then stared as though piecing together a vexing puzzle. "Papa…? You're okay." She smiled then.

Ysareline heard her husband choking up over her shoulder. "Thanks to you, yes."

"Adriala!" Lesara's eyes widened and she scrambled in the slippery mess of vine debris beneath them.

Her mother's guard snapped a salute near the chamber door, heels clicking loudly enough to grab their attention. "After coming to, Glaive Adriala finished the wakening here. She then led a few priests and glaives to check and waken the other druids, starting with Master Kalshen."

Her daughter sighed and smiled but Ysareline frowned. "She left her post?"

"And my brother?" Lesara interrupted.

Shestelle hesitated at both questions before catching Ysareline's eyes.

"I ordered her to. My brother?"

Ysareline nodded toward her daughter.

Shestelle nodded back. "This is the only chamber infected. Master Kalshen is–"

"Ta!" Kalshen barreled into the glaive from behind and rolled around the doorway, nearly slipping on the sticky green mess before landing on his knees in front of Lesara. "Goddess, you're okay…when she…" He trailed off and cupped Lesara's face in both hands before wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her close. "You're okay." He whispered again before opening his eyes and staring directly at Ysareline.

She expected the usual defiance in his eyes and hardened herself against it. The expression she met, however, was brief confusion, focused on her cheeks first, then her eyes. His featured softened. "Thank you." His eyes flicked toward Ethan'y'len behind her and he stretched one arm out behind Lesara toward them both. Ysareline smiled back and leaned into the hug, wrapping her arms around Lesara's waist. Her husband folded in from behind, one arm draped on her shoulders, the other on Kalshen's.

Ysareline pulled more light in, wrapping her family in a healing warmth. "Thank the goddess," she whispered. Despite the warmth, a tiny spot of cold squirmed deep in her core, whispering back death and blame. She pulled Lesara closer, pressing an ear to her back until all she heard was the now-steady heartbeat.


	7. Inner Sanctum

_Notes: Valyndriel belongs to a roleplaying buddy._

_**Silent Rain  
Episode 7: Inner Sanctum**_

Lesara frowned at her father's leg where he'd stretched it out on the cot in front of her. "Nothing?" The pale, lilac skin of his bared left leg looked no different from the functional leg beside it.

"Nothing." He rapped his knuckles twice on the knee.

Lesara looked over him at one of the order's druids, a dedicated healer. Narel's brow furrowed as he laid large, blue-skinned hands over her father's leg again and hummed. Greenish light formed between his touch and the leg. Lesara felt the pleasant warmth and leaned forward, almost reaching out. She felt the hum in her throat but strangled it back.

Most of the order could heal, along with the house druids, but shadow was the Lady of Mystery's focus. One of the goddess, Elune's three aspects. Full moon priestesses typically specialized in healing, half-moon rode the balance, but as Ysareline's heir, her fate rested with the new moon.

Something buzzed in the back of her mind, a forgotten thought or conversation before her mother revived her. It blended with a deep, masculine voice. Lesara shook her head. "What?"

Narel looked up at her and offered an encouraging smile. "Lord Ethan'y'len appears fine otherwise. He's lucky."

Lesara nodded, finding Narel's eyes still on her, the golden glow rather bright, marking his strong gift in druidic magics. She felt held fast, wondering again what the druid path was like and suddenly missing her garden. She realized Narel continued staring back.

"Your hair is tickling my other leg though, if you don't mind." Ethan batted and brushed at the loose, dark green strands hovering over his good leg.

Narel quickly apologized and ducked his head, gathering and then tying his hair back. A darker blue flush stained his cheeks and he avoided Lesara's eyes completely.

Lesara followed suit and glanced around the inner sanctum. No longer content with only one guard and several spells protecting all within the room, Ysareline ordered as many as she could spare and easily fit in with her daughter and injured husband.

Adriala had finally settled on one of the cots in the back for a nap, right next to her father's. Ranera and Shestelle stood guard, facing each other on either side of the sealed and bespelled entrance.

Two of her mother's favoured priestesses reclined on wooden benches carved for comfortable elegance, directly across from each other on either side of the large, circular sanctum.

Valyndriel curled up with an older tome, her hand obscuring the title. Her loose, violet hair created a waist-length curtain that hid her face. The other, Shalya, simply stared straight forward into nothing, dark green hair pulled back in a sharp and neat braid. Valyndriel was the priestess Lesara kept in easy view, however. Her casual and disinterested demeanor rarely failed at causing uneasy prickles, followed by an itching desire for shields. Any shields.

Lesara forced her eyes away, taking stock of the room now. Supplies of many types lined the walls, while still more lay organized in several chests and shelving units along with two more cots behind Lesara. Behind those, a hidden door in the wall leading to a heavily spellworked fountain of fresh water for drinking and washing. She used it earlier and Shalya helped wash and comb her hair out. The protections there were different, muted, and focused on deflecting attention. It stored A few more boxes of dried foods and a pile of blankets, intended as a final hiding place for only a few while those remaining in the sanctum proper served as diversion…sacrifices to avert suspicion. She knew her mother left a few more defenses on the other side of the sealed entrance as well, likely a few concealed shadowsworn.

"You should rest, My Lady." Narel's voice called her attention back, but he still kept his face turned away, busying with a bowl of herbs on the table he set up against the wall by her father's cot.

"I nearly died today," Lesara snapped, immediately regretting it when both men in front of her winced away. She softened her voice with effort. "That's plenty rest enough."

Ethan'y'len slipped her right hand in his left and squeezed. "You did die, Ta'ele."

She stared at the bowl of herbs, but felt his tears all the same and set her jaw against them.

"Narel is right, you should rest. Finish healing. Revive magic only works so far without rest."

She took back her hand and sat on the cot behind her, folding her legs up in front and shook her head. She felt the fiercely ignored sting in her eyes again. She closed them and after images writhed behind her lids like festering worms. She forced her eyes open again. "I can't. I see them whenever I close my eyes." She swallowed hard, her voice cracking. "And then I can't breathe."

"I can command you to sleep." Valyndriel's silky voice crept chills up Lesara's spine.

Several inadequate excuses flashed, partially formed, through her mind, searching for a polite refusal. She wanted that priestess nowhere near her head.

Narel cleared his throat. "I can make you an herbal infusion, My Lady, it's less intrusive and will promote healing."

Lesara met his eyes again and smiled weakly, nodding. "Thank you." She saw Valyndriel shrug in her peripheral vision, her face never lifted from the book in front of her.

"What happened in the barrows?" She finally asked a question that niggled her off and on about that morning's events. "What was that?" She pinned her father with an even stare when he shook his head.

Narel busied himself with a pouch of herbs and a second bowl of water already on the cot-side table.

No one answered her. "Was it the legion?"

Ethan shook his head again, but it was Narel who answered aloud. "We call it the Emerald Nightmare. Only a few of us know, and what we know is not much. Something dangerous sneaks around the Emerald Dream these days, dark and old, but it's not the legion. It's a rot that corrupts, or outright kills everything caught in one of its black pools. They appear random and isolated, growing until enough Dreamwalkers gather and strengthen the surrounding wilds against it, stop the spreading. We had no idea it created waking nightmares around the druids caught within."

Lesara watched her father's expression darken, the pale yellow glow of his eyes dimmed before he closed them completely. "I heard a dryad screaming. Ran to help, but when I got there, she was black and twisted, one still-green arm stretched, shadow creeping up her neck, beginning to cover her face. She screamed for help and I grabbed her arm. I tried to pull her out, but it was no use, I lost my grip and fell backwards. It swallowed her up then. I tried to back up, but my heel was stuck at the edge. I saw shadows and heard terrible whispering. My foot felt like it was getting eaten by hundreds of little insects." He patted his unresponsive limb. "Slowly, up my leg. You woke me just in time."

Lesara's frown deepened and she felt the open worry on her face as she looked back up at Narel. He handed her a bowl, then turned and grabbed the other, handing it to Ethan. "He's very lucky, indeed."


	8. Restless

_Notes: Once again, Valyndriel belongs to a roleplaying buddy._

_**Silent Rain**_  
_**Episode 8: Restless**_

The vines strangled her dreams and obscured her vision of the goddess. She said something, words of comfort swallowed by the creaking plants. Wisps danced around her moonlit figure, frantic as the scene turned red from fires springing up. Lesara gasped for air and choked on smoke instead. The last thing she saw between the vines was Mount Hyjal in the distance. A plummeting sensation in the pit of her stomach accompanied it and held a clenching grip on her heart.

Darkness.

She jolted upright and smacked her head painfully on something. Breathless still, she blinked sleep away from her eyes and rubbed her head with a grunt. She thought she heard a snicker to the left of the room just before an echoed groan to her immediate right called her attention. Narel rubbed at his forehead, looking dazed.

"You really shouldn't head-butt your healer, Sprout." Her father's voice from behind Narel sounded concerned, rather than amused.

"My apologies, Lady Ethala'Aman." Narel grunted a bit still rubbing the left side of his forehead. "Are you alright?"

Lesara shook her head, replaying the last images of her dream. She tried calming her breath, succeeding only a little. "Hyjal…Nordrassil…" She looked up into Narel's golden-hued eyes.

He still held his forhead, but his hand was still.

"They destroy Nordrassil…I felt it falling." She focused her vision on her knees beneath the blanket, but instead saw a firey battlefield and The World Tree atop Mount Hyjal, falling. Frantic wisps, lit red from flames, flew beyond the falling giant… "It's all on fire."

A sudden and loud click startled her and the vision faded, slowly replaced by her pastel blue blanket and Narel's hand in front of her face, fingers clicking again. "None of that now." She felt his other hand rest on her back. "Control your breathing."

Lesara closed her eyes and swallowed hard, nodding. She had been close to hyperventilating and now she forced long and slow breaths, picturing her gardens outside, fighting against images of it burning as well. "We can't stay in here."

"We have to." Ethan's voice was thick and nearly mumbled from behind Narel.

Lesara glanced at him as she pushed out of bed and began pacing. He wore a haggard expression as clear evidence of how little sleep they'd both gotten over the past few days, despite Narel's herbal mixtures. In fact, the others, set as guards and healer, slept far more in their shifts. "I can't do this. I can't stay."

"You have to." Valyndriel's response was curt and commanding. Lesara glared at her, but Valyndriel shook her head. "If you leave, we will suffer the consequences, not you. You're the precious heir." She sneered so briefly Lesara thought she imagined it.

"Valy–!" Shalya paled to a light, lilac shade and received a glare in return.

"It's true and I don't care if I get in trouble for reminding her." Her eyes refocused on Lesara's, ignoring the witnesses to her daring. "Report me if you like, but don't be selfish, it's on everyone else here if you leave the sanctum's safety." Her eyes narrowed and the last was exchanged privately from mind to mind. __You're not even a fit heir in the Order of Mysteries, go ahead, report me while you still have real power backing you up.__

Lesara felt heat rising in her cheeks and looked away. She guarded her thoughts while recalling her mother's past punishments, usually more severe than those charged with guarding her…only private. Ysareline made sure Lesara suffered her poor choices and called it the burden of power and responsibility, always tying it to lessons and training. Regardless, Valyndriel rightfully shamed her…and her private dig was also correct; Lesara continually fell short of her mother's hopes. "I'm sorry," she said, finally, sitting back down on the edge of her cot. "It was wrong to forget."

"I cannot fault you for wanting to do something constructive." Shalya was glaring at Valyndriel's profile when Lesara looked over at her.

The other priestess shrugged and reopened the new tome she was reading. "Read a book."

"Enough." Lesara sat straighter with forced confidence. "You will show a fellow priestess due respect. I realize we're all anxious for fresh air, but let's not make this intolerable for each other, it shames our order in front of those who trust our lead." She acknowledged the silent majority in the room, all considered of lesser station, they refrained from comments. Even her father held no authority over a priestess of his wife's order, especially not her favourites.

"I apologize. Would you care for something to read, either of you?" Valyndriel looked up from the book in her lap and tapped her fingers on the shelf within arm's reach of her chair.

Shalya shook her head and returned to her meditations, staring forward into empty air.

"I believe I will read one." Lesara nodded and stood up.

Valyndriel flashed her a genuine smile. "Allow me." She removed the tome she picked up the first day and brought it over. "You won't be sorry."

Lesara glanced down at the title between them. She recognized the emebellished figure of a female night elf in wispy, metallic purple relief on the blackened leather cover. Now she read the title: __On Shadowed Minds __by Evaressiel Ethala'Aman. "Thank you." She looked up and caught Valyndriel's amused smile.

"Enjoy." She sauntered back to her chair and curled up with her current book.

Lesara looked around at the others and found all eyes carefully averted, or in her father's case, closed entirely. She sat with one knee folded under her on the bed, the other leg draped over the side, firmly on the floor, and began reading her aunt's book. The same aunt her mother rarely spoke of.


	9. Company

_Notes: Valyndriel belongs to a roleplaying buddy._

_**Silent Rain  
Episode 9: Company**_

A resounding scrape woke Lesara from sleep. Both glaives at the door turned to face it.

Adriala moved and stood guard in front of Lesara's cot. All protocol, rather than a sense of true danger. Few possessed the magic access signature. A very powerful caster could dismantle the protections and force their way in, triggering the alarm spells. Even that would take at least a few hours as trusted priestesses and druids, she and her mother among them, layered the magical protections daily over the years.

Kalshen stood on the other side, flanked by two outriders. Lesara recognized both from the nearest village, Astranaar. She stopped peeking around Adriala's shoulder and took lead, greeting her brother and his company.

He embraced her in return. "I'm glad you are well, sister." He kept the rest of his greeting formal. "Outriders from Astranaar have official need to meet with you."

"Me?" Heat pushed up her neck on the tails of her unprofessional response. "Of course." She cleared her throat and hoped no one noticed.

"While respect Ysareline Ethala'Aman's wish to protect her only daughter, I'm afraid it cannot wait." The left outrider Melaris gave a short bow, then brushed her midnight-blue tangles behind one ear.

"I understand. Kalshen, show them to the reception room, have someone bring in food and drink."

Her brother nodded and turned around, motioning for the outriders to follow. The second outrider, one Lesara remembered seeing, but never met, paused long enough to bow. Her white braid slid forward over her shoulder. "Thank you, priestess."

"We shall only be a few moments behind you." Lesara attempted what she thought was a gracious smile.

The outrider bobbed her head then turned and quickened her step until she caught up with her escort.

As everyone remaining in the chamber began gathering supplies and belongings, Lesara headed for the smaller water chamber and sponged herself off a little, using a bowl of water specifically for this, then checked her reflection in a small hand mirror. Presentable enough. She fussed at a smudge of dirt on her cheek, then went out and joined the others, grabbing her aunt's book on the way out.

Valyndriel and Adriala took point, followed by Lesara and Shalya, then Narel, helping Ethan walk at a slower pace. The final two glaives brought up the rear of their column. When they reached the open-air landing Lesara breathed in deeply. Whatever reason they called her from safety, she was more thankful for it than they realized.

They kept company farther back in the landing where a few male servants just finished setting the large and round wooden table with cups of clear water and various bowls of fruits and vegetables. The positioning was most pleasant, offering a panoramic view of the field and gardens out front. Only a few trees far afield blocked their view. However, druid architects built and shaped the table far enough back that the landing sheltered it from wind and weather.

The view allowed an easy sight of more figures approaching from about a mile out. "Refugees. Children, some wounded, and a few cooperative prisoners."

Lesara looked over her shoulder as the white-braided outrider placed a hand on it. "Cooperative prisoners?"

The outrider offered a tight smile. "This is our reason. No demons or green-skins are among the prisoners. They are a few of the pale ones from across the eastern sea. Humans. Some destroy the forests, like the green-skins, but they also fight the green-skins. These prisoners survived a ship-wreck off the Zoram Strand."

"Theirs or one of ours?" Lesara led the way to the table, taking her mother's spot, which positioned her back at the wall, setting the book down on the table in front of her. Adriala and Ranera took position behind her shoulders.

"One of ours, ferrying the wounded and survivors from Stonetalon." She hung back and glanced at all the nearest seats and then at her fellow outrider still standing on the other side of the table speaking with a sentinel.

"Please, sit and rest a little, enjoy the meal." Lesara indicated the chair beside her.

"Afraid not, sorry." Valyndriel slid between them and took the chair on Lesara's left at nearly the same time that Shalya claimed the one immediately on her right. "Enjoy the meal, by all means, but as part of the Lady's guard, we must insist on these seats."

Ethan, already settled in next to Valyndriel, patted the seat on his right. "Protocol," he explained. "You are most welcome here, this seat has better access to the food and drink anyway." He smiled up at the outrider and she nodded, taking the indicated seat.

Kalshen slid into the seat beside Shalya, inviting the other outrider and sentinel to the chairs following him. Lesara looked around for Narel and found him standing at the foot of the landing, watching the small group marching slowly toward them. The sentinel declined her seat and left, standing and waiting with Narel instead.

"Continue…?" Lesara trailed off, waiting for a name.

"Felarie." She chased her name with a long drink from her water cup. "As I said, the few prisoners are cooperative pale-skins. Two of the prisoners are adult males and the other one is a child…a boy child, we think. He's still with fever and a little delirious. We can't understand them without priestess-linked mind-vision and the priestesses are all very busy. We received permission to relocate our children and infirm to nearest safety. Here."

"Out of respect for the Ethala'Aman family," Melaris interrupted, "We won't ask you to send all able bodies to the fight, including the heir…you. However, we simply lack enough healers and safe locations for all."

"We are priestesses of the new moon." Valyndriel popped a grape into her mouth, not looking at anyone. Boredom filled her tone of voice.

"It's true," Lesara frowned. "However, we know healing as well. While we can't promise the results of dedicated healers, we will try our best. It is an honor to contribute in whatever way I can." __And far better than slowly going mad in a stuffy room with seven other people, s__he added in her thoughts. A relieved smile followed the thought and she turned her attention on the approaching group of refugees as Kalshen rose to help the servants direct them.


	10. Prisoners

_Notes: Valyndriel and Padraig belong to roleplaying buddies._

_**Silent Rain**_  
_**Episode 10: Prisoners**_

In total, twenty refugees, more than half of them children, the rest fathers and other adult males without druid training, arrived. Some of the men helped carry three wounded on cots; two sentinels and a druid. The prisoners carried the human boy's cot.

Astranaar spared ten sentinels as guards for the journey. They stopped long enough for supplies before riding off with the two outriders.

Narel, with a few of the novice house priestesses, guided the men carrying wounded soldiers to the first rooms up the stairs, tending their wounds and needs immediately. Meanwhile, someone ordered the prisoners sent below and sealed in an under-used barrow specifically made for prisoners. They spared one guard for that door.

With Narel's daily care, Lesara often forgot last week's events. Only nightmares and various dull aches, especially around her neck and throat served as occasional reminders. As heir and hostess, she kept her symbolic place, over-seeing events and any potential disputes or unusual problems. In other words, doing nothing while two glaives and either Valyndriel or Shalya guarded her in shifts. Most staff ran easily without direction, knowing their roles.

However, when Lesara inquired after the prisoners, she found no one willing to do more than provide them food. Then Shalya told her their location. Abandoning her formal position, Lesara marched into the dungeon barrow, leaving her guard catching up.

"My lady, your mother won't like this. It isn't proper!" Shalya tailed her close.

Lesara's left ear twitched briefly toward the sound of both glaives, Ranera and Shestelle, following just behind Shalya. "One of those prisoners is with fever, and only a child, besides."

"Feverish? Like a beast?" Shestelle's tone bristled against Lesara's concern.

"You forget our unique __gifts__ __and__ your place." She paused a moment before continuing. "The child is sick and adults, cooperative. Since everyone else is too busy, I will not see them die or mistreated when I can do something about it."

"Your mother–" Shalya this time.

"I'm well aware of what my mother wants of me. I'll deal with it when she returns." Halting in front of the barrow, she addressed the guard. "I've come to see the prisoners."

The guard nodded back and pulled aside a spy slot.

"Open the door, please."

"Right, sorry, Lady Ethala'Aman." The guard ducked her head and checked the slot, then stepped aside and turned the locking mechanism. The heavy stone doors grated apart.

Both of the stubby-eared, pale men inside looked up at Lesara and her guards. One was sitting on the ground in the far corner, hands resting on bent knees in front of him. The boy slept heavy on the only cot, the head of its poorly-stuffed mattress centered along the back wall. The other adult prisoner bent over the boy's side. He straightened and glared at Lesara. He growled clipped and harsh-sounding words; guttural compared with Thalassian, the flowing kaldorei tongue. He ended with a pointed gesture at the clearly sick child and took a step forward.

Ranera and Shestelle drew weapons and took point, blocking Lesara from harm and view. The man in the corner mumbled something back at his friend and received an exasperated sigh and a short, frustrated response. Lesara wedged her hands, palms together, between the two glaives and nudged them apart. "They're unarmed males. I can handle any trouble they cause. Besides, he's clearly angry about the child. Step aside."

The glaives repositioned at Lesara's shoulders. Looking over her shoulder, Lesara spotted Shalya guarding their backs, before she refocused on the angry pale-skin. The glaives' threat subdued him and he bent over the child again, feeling the boy's forhead with the back of his hand.

Lesara noted his warrior build though he stood at least a full head shorter. Dirt and exhaustion covered both men. She joined the more vocal one from the other side of the cot. The boy was just as dirty and still in the same style clothing as the other pale-skins, though his held far more tatters. They were older than either adult's, less finely made…not finely made at all.

Holding the dirty cloth between her fingers at the boy's collar, Lesara furrowed her brow. __They were ship-wrecked and left in wet clothing. No wonder he has fever. __Blanched skin under all the dirt, at least compared to the color in the two adults, worried her most. Memories of helping her father tend sick sabers ran around in her mind and she wondered if she might attempt those same steps on a pale-skin.

She reached with her mind toward the adult male opposite her and applied gentle pressure. He looked up and nodded. She pressed further, silent long enough that images and foreign words began taking on meaning she understood. __My people never get sick. How do we help her?__ The thought came attached with a younger Lesara helping her father care for sick sabers and the sense of a question.

The pale-skin responded aloud, mumbling and shaking his head. In response, she saw the vague images of a pale-skinned woman caring for a different child, a little girl, along with blurred and vague images of what happened out of his sight when the sick room's wooden door closed on him, left in helpless and nervous fidgeting.

"I understand." Lesara nodded and placed the back of her hand on the boy's forhead; the heat worried her more. She sent back images of caring for the boy in better surroundings and relocating the two men in nicer quarters. The man answered with a weary smile and spoken gratitude.

Speaking up, Lesara addressed the guards. "I want this child safely relocated to the spare quarters beside my own."

"A prisoner so close?" Shalya frowned. "Your mother–"

"Would probably be furious and say no, but she's not here. Either the child's moved near my quarters or I begin sleeping near his." She straightened and adopted her mother's most imperial expression and stance.

"Yes, my Lady."

"The prisoners will also be moved to a guarded guest room, a proper one, with two places for sleep…and a chance to wash up. Find them new clothes, even if they're too big. Have their old ones washed and returned. Have the same waiting with the boy in his sick room. Ranera and Shestelle will accompany me to the gardens for necessary herbs. No mistreatment will befall them undeserving."

After walking behind the glaives and out the doorway, she paused. "Oh, and they have names. You'll find Jon in the corner, Padraig chastised us, and the boy is called Ren."


	11. Ren

_Notes: Not the way I'd handle language differences normally, but I find it tricky to translate all the language rules Blizzard uses into my fiction. So this is inspired a bit by the priest spell "mind vision" and other abilities that suggest psychic ability in use (psychic scream among others). Padraig is an npc belonging to a friend._

_Now that I am caught up to my own story again, I'll be trying for an update every Friday._

**_**Silent Rain  
Episode 11: Ren**_**

By the time Lesara finished wading through tasks and arrangements needing her attention, she found the human boy already washed and dressed in a robe large enough it served as a blanket. He looked far paler, though human skin tones already seemed paler and more orange than any kaldorei.

She sat on the edge of the cot and placed the back of her hand to his forehead. Still burning hot. The boy mumbled something and scrunched up his face. Chaos laced his thoughts. Fever dreams; just like a sick saber cat. Lesara smoothed his hair and closed her eyes, thinking on the gentle warmth of Elune's light emanating from her finger tips. She let the warmth cool a little at a time, using her hands like the wet cloth from Padraig's memories to bring down the temperature.

Once the boy's forehead felt cooler, Lesara focused on channeling the warmth of Elune throughout, gentle and subtle, so as not to raise his temperature again. She pictured the light making him strong and healthy again, helping his body eradicate infection. When she opened her eyes, she saw more colour in the boy's cheeks and he slept more sound. His dreams relaxed in the form of a bizarre world of metal creations, but he seemed thrilled by them.

The healing sessions took a full week before the boy was awake for any significant length of time and speaking in more than confused rambles.

After another long meeting discussing the war in Hyjal and refugee situation in her home, Lesara walked into her chamber and found the boy sitting up with her aunt's book open in his lap. He frowned at the elvish text, held firm with one hand in the cradle of his lap, while the other picked idly at his blanket robes.

She felt the curiosity in his mind, along with a simple appreciation for the script, rather than understanding the contents. Clearing her throat, Lesara approached the cot-side with a gentle smile. "You're finally awake, I see." She linked their minds with the meaning of her words.

Ren put a small hand to his forehead and furrowed his brow. "Yer doin' that?"

Smiling wider, Lesara sat at the foot of his cot and nodded. "I've been practicing with your friends, Jon and Padraig. They're downstairs." In only a week's time, the two human men pitched in whenever they could. With the near-constant mind-linking for translation purposes, they quickly proved their guards a wasted resource. They now counted as additional refugees, rather than prisoners.

Ren shook his head. "I was out that long?" He closed the book and Lesara felt a mental pressure for more memories of the past week's events along with a rush of jumbled questions. The strength of that pressure from this boy surprised her, as though the mental connections were far more familiar for him, as opposed to the human men he arrived with. Flashes of memory from recent events, up to the vine attack and her near-death encounter with Elune, flowed in the wrong direction, yanked away before Lesara managed to slam the mental door with a gasp.

They both looked at each other with eyes widened by the shared fear. Recovering her composure first, Lesara looked away, sat up straighter, and assumed her peaceful mask. "Are you alright, Ren?"

The boy nodded slowly, too slowly. __Shock.__

Lesara placed a hand on his knee, calling on Elune's gentle warmth. The sensation washed over the boy and he relaxed, blinking several times. "What was that?" He swallowed hard and found Lesara's eyes again.

"Unexpected. I'm sorry." She smiled then. "You must have a natural gift." She patted his knee before clasping both hands in her lap.

"You died!" Horror and amazement warred in his voice. "And those things! Who was that lady?" She heard a muted version of a dozen more questions from his thoughts.

"My people are immortal." Lesara squirmed a bit. "It's difficult for us to stay dead if a priestess is close enough for healing…unless the dying kaldorei lets go…on purpose." Silence stretched between them while Lesara wondered where to start with the other questions.

She looked up at Ren, who was staring back as though viewing his first sunrise over the ocean. Just on the surface of thought, Lesara viewed flashes of a lonely life, and an oft-disappointed, but hopeful Ren. A boy pretending Padraig could be his father, or at least a big brother.

He fancied a vague image of the wife Padraig mentioned, Thieren, as his own mother. She starred in fantasies of Ren wearing a ridiculously poofy pink robe and longer, braided hair with his faceless mother, laughing and sharing a group hug with Padraig, sharing a large meal, or playing with each other's hair. He seemed pleased and embarrassed by this fancy.

The memories moved backward, wondering how his parents died, why people died. __Why did they leave? Did they leave? They probably died.__ The habitual loneliness felt like a hollow space in the pit of Ren's stomach. He lived with other children before, but they ignored him. Ren was strange. Not at all like other little girls.

Lesara resisted a strong impulse to hug the poor girl and comfort her. She knew lonely too well. "Not a boy after all…" The response sounded lame after the flood of memories.

Ren nibbled at her bottom lip and shook her head, then looked up in slight panic. "Don't tell, though! Please?" A new flash of memories, other young girls being grabbed by shadowy figures and carried off into a dark sense of foreboding mixed with a woman's voice chiding. __Such things aren't safe for little girls. __Multiple memories of various boys allowed on a week of adventure with approved heroes left her behind, feeling bitter and angry.

"You needn't worry about that now. It appears your people consider gender backwards." Lesara sent back brief memories of her brother and father receiving similar limitations.

Ren giggled. "I think I'll like it here." She bounced over and threw her arms around Lesara.

A surge of warmth and energy, along with easy, almost desperate affection came from Ren and Lesara found the laughter infectious. She grinned and hugged the girl back, enjoying her as thoroughly as she might an innocent saber kitten. Now, if only her mother would let her keep Ren. She began rehearsing special pleas in her head and fought dread at her mother's likely responses.


End file.
